No Longer Needed
by Anonymous-Nerds-Unite
Summary: Dick thinks he is no longer needed nor wanted by any of his family, so he disappears. But how will Bruce take it? Summary sucks.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I wasn't sure what to rate this, so tell me via comment or PM of you think it should go up to M.**

**Warnings: Suicidal thoughts, cutting, self-hate, and language**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Batman or anything affiliated. **

A week ago, Dick Grayson cut his wrist. It wasn't a large cut, just a small scratch, but it was deep enough to bleed. He locked himself in his room, a needle in hand, scraping at pale skin over a prominent vein. If his wrist hadn't had so many nerves, he would have gone further. He would have dug deeper and deeper into his skin, pressing, scraping.

He didn't ever try to hide it. Bruce would have seen if he cared like he used to. He used to notice everything about Dick. He used to comfort him when he was upset. But not anymore.

Now the cut's healed, but left a small scar. A small fold of skin that will never leave. It will forever mar smooth skin, a constant reminder that Bruce no longer cared about him. It reminded Dick that he wasn't needed in this life anymore, not by any of the people he held most dear. No one would miss him if he disappeared, so that was exactly what Dick Grayson was going to do. And once he was gone, he was never coming back.

**A/N: This is exceedingly short but if it is well received, I will spend more time on it. So please tell me what you think, even if it's strictly criticism. I want to know so I can improve. Also, always feel free to offer ideas. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Batman or any related franchise. **

**A/N: I apologize in advance for any OOCness and any factual errors. My comic book collection is not nearly as vast as I would like it to be, as I don't live near a comic book store. **

Bruce's meeting at Wayne Enterprises had gone on for longer than he had expected, which was hardly unusual. He was almost glad; he wasn't looking forward to arriving back at the manor.

The reason for that was Alfred. Well, sure, it wasn't _actually _the Wayne butler. The point of annoyance was how good Alfred was at persuading him to do things. The problem lied with his eldest son.

Dick had been coming to the manor less and less lately, hardly looking at Bruce at all. He slowly also began to ignore Damian, favoring the company of Tim. Alfred still got acknowledgements, which was better than the rest of the family.

But now, it had been a month since anyone had even heard from the vigilante. Alfred had persuaded him to call Dick today. Bruce wasn't looking forward to it; whether he showed it or not, Dick's rejections hurt him. He couldn't bear to think of his little bird, who used to come to him for everything, shutting him out.

When he finally worked up the courage to call Dick that night, all he got was an answering machine. Bruce would never admit it, but he felt a pang of sorrow as he hung up the phone. He knew Dick would be back from work by now, and not yet have started patrol. So Bruce decided on a last resort.

Less than ten minutes later, he was knocking on the door of Dick's apartment.*

There was no answer.

* - I don't know where in Gotham Dick was supposed to live, so I decided myself. If you dislike that, send me the info; I'm fine hearing I'm wrong.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: i know in the first chapter Dick was slightly OOC (who am I kidding, he was completely OOC; he doesnt have depression) but the first chapter was actually based upon my own life. **

I** locked myself in my room and scraped at my wrist for days, each day gouging deeper. A****nd I did use a sewing needle. I used it to relieve my frustration at everything. It barely bled when I made it, but now I have a small scar. I didn't try to hide it before it healed, and I don't try to hide it now. It just makes me realize how little my family notices.**

**About a week later, after my parents told me I was volatile, I locked myself in my bathroom. I just sat there, staring at myself in the mirror, noticing every flaw with my face. I though about how I'm overweight and lazy, how I don't push myself as hard as I used to. I though about my dog that died and how I never spent enough time with her. And so I took out a pair of nail clippers and used them to tear away a thin line of my skin, just below the scar. It bled quite a lot. No one noticed it in the month it took to heal. And I just wanted to run away from everything and never look back.**

**So yes, the first chapter was me applying my problems to a hero. But the reason why I did it? Every review I get lets me know I did something, changed someone even just the smallest bit. And I know that everyone wants Dick to get over his sorrow.**

**Maybe it's because that's just what I need, someone wanting me to get over my sorrow.**

**I'm not asking for your apologies and I'm not asking for your sympathies. I'm asking for your understanding. I know a character being OOC can ruin a story, but please try to understand while I try to improve. I completely understand if you leave this story.**

**On a happier note, I know this took longer, but it's going to be a longer chapter. The first two were just to set up what's happening and been happening. Just to be clear, Dick is not leaving to spite anyone. He's leaving because it hurts to see his family and know (think) they don't love him. He's leaving because he thinks they'll be happier without him. Just to clarify. Also, I've been writing this on my iPad, which is harder to write on than a computer for me. Once i start upon my computer, the chapters will get longer. And while I'm at it...**

**Warning: possible character death (but I'm not gonna tell you, 'cause that would be a spoiler. ;D)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Batman or any affiliated franchise**.

* * *

><p>Bruce rapped at the door until his knuckles started to ache. And coming from Batman, that meant a lot. Still, his son would not come to the door. Yet Bruce would not be swayed.<p>

Maybe Dick wanted to take a break from his family and maybe he ignored their calls, but Bruce had known him to always respond to the door. Sure, sometimes it was a simple acknowledging grunt followed by minutes of silence; it was still an answer in some way.

Bruce took out the copy of the key to Dick's room that he had made (the fact that he had stolen the original off his son while he was sleeping didn't matter, though it hurt that Dick hadn't given him one on his own). He entered it into the lock, the key gliding smoothly in. He turned it sharply and was granted entrance into his son's apartment.

The first thing he noticed was that it was clean. Dick may not have been the messiest person in the world, but he hasn't been close to the cleanest when living at the manor, and his apartment had been worse than that when Bruce dropped by before.

To see something that belonged to the boy he had known so clean...well, it disturbed him. The fact that he was Batman didn't matter.

He walked wearily through the room, eyes searching for any sign of Dick. There was none.

At least, there were none before he came into Dick's bedroom. It was as clean as the rest of the apartment, yet everything was covered in the thinnest layer of dust.

What caught Bruce's attention was a white envelope resting upon the bedside table Bruce had given him. The vigilante walked over and picked it up, examining it closer. Tim's name was messily scrawled across the front in Dick's unique, unmistakable handwriting.

Bruce began to slide a finger beneath the seal, hearing it open. The letter would go to Tim, but not without Bruce knowing what had happened first


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Sorry for not updating sooner, school started and I've been busy. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Batman or any affiliated franchise. **

How easy is it to end your life?

Dick looked down below at the rolling waves battling for dominance beneath the cliff. Each one swallowed the others, striving to be on top only to be swallowed by the next largest to come along. Occasionally they would bash against the cliff, sending freezing spray speeding upwards to Dick, as if trying to reach out and pull him back in. It didn't need to try so hard.

Dick wasn't standing here, debating whether or not to fling himself off. He had done it long ago, before writing the note to Tim and moving away. It wasn't a hard choice to make.

Nether the less, he had stood until his legs began to ache and his face began to sting from the cold. What was he waiting for?

The question rolled over and over in his head. There was nothing to stop him once he jumped, took that one step that altered his balance just enough that he could let himself fall. One step, and the hundred foot fall would end his life. The only thing stopping him was the ledge of rock beneath him, so why did it seem like there was so much more?

Maybe he was being hasty, maybe…

No. It was the mind of a young boy, grief stricken, that had been made to believe Bruce and Alfred loved him. It had been the mind of a teenager, too focused upon keeping his two worlds separate, that had allowed itself to believe he had friends, the same mind that convinced him Babs loved him.

But now it was the mind of a young man that convinced him he was wrong. And even if he wasn't, Bruce needed to father Damian, the young boy who really needed his attention. Tim needed to keep up with studies, and Jason seemed happy without seeing Dick at all. Alfred had his hands full keeping this cordial between Tim and the youngest Robin, but he had enough control he didn't need an extra hand. It was the mind of a young man that had cleared away the fog and allowed him to see that he was no longer needed. Taking a deep breath, he took one step off the cliff.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I know this is not what the majority voted for in the pole, but a fourth of the votes. However, I would also like to do this one, and have been thinking of it since posting the pole. If you really wanted Bruce, sorry, not yet. He will come, just not yet. **

**One thing I have realized (yes, I am American) is that I have given no frame of reference for the events taking place. Dick cutting his wrist could have taken place a month before he left and so on, so forth. I hope this chapter establishes a bit more sense of time.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Batman or any affiliated franchise. **

Red Hood's victims had been incredibly – ruthlessly – decimated recently. Of course, this did not happen overnight, or in a mere few weeks. It had been progressive. A bullet slightly closer to an artery one day, in a terribly painful place the next. Within a few weeks, Red Hood's no-killing almost went down the drain – _would _have, had a police man not found the unfortunate victim before he bled out on the concrete. Soon all criminals had to fear for their lives, more and more fatalities being found only shortly before death. Each time, it grew closer and closer to the target not surviving at all. Everyone puzzled over the change, but, minds muddled with fear, no one realized that it all happened after Nightwing's last appearance. Well, Batman did.

After a month of dealing with almost-dead suspects, Batman decided to have a … little talk with the younger vigilante. So it was that the Bat dreaded by so many landed in Jason Todd's apartment – not registered under that name, of course. And, being the welcomed guest he was, he was greeted by a reception of fists, pounding mercilessly against his breastplate. However, they were weak, tired throws, and Batman stood there until the barrage had ended.

After five minutes, Jason stood back, breathing heavily. "Where is he?" was panted out from between gasping inhalations. Batman stood silently, shocked by the condition of his second-eldest son. Pale skin easily laid out the deep bags beneath two dull green eyes, almost covered themselves by untrimmed, greasy hair. The face was obviously unshaven and had been for several days. Muscle tone had been lost, showing less obviously than before through the jacket. And the smell of the jacket – ugh.

"Where the _hell _is he?" Jason repeated, yet it was more like a growl as he regained his breath. Batman found himself on the receiving end of a very, very vicious bat-glare.

"I don't know," Batman admitted, much to his own surprise. He wasn't used to being so _open _with people, but seeing Jason like this – well, there was only one person that could have caused it. "Dick disappeared about a month ago."

Jason let out a wry laugh. "You expect me to believe that _you _don't know where golden boy is? You, who kept a tab on me, even though you've made it clear that you _despise _everything about me?"

Batman sighed. "Jason, you know I don't –"

"Don't think I give a _damn _about what you say, Bruce. Hell, the only reason you even visited me was because I was killing your suspects! Your actions are speaking plenty loud enough, old man. I don't need your words to attack me, too. And I sure don't need your love. Now," at this he pulled out a gun, finger poised to fire, "where is Dickie-bird?"

"Jay –"

"_Now, _Bruce."

At his silence, the first bullet barely missed his armor, embedding itself in a decomposing wood wall. A second later, the second bullet hit the wall behind where the Dark Knight had been, but all that was left was an open window.

Jason flopped himself down upon his couch, straining to ignore the gnawing in his stomach and at his conscious. Dick could take care of himself. There was no need to go looking in his apartment – for the seventeenth time, though he would _never _admit that. There was no need to search his apartment for clues.

Jason repeated this mantra in his head. There's no need, there's no need, there's no –

Aw, screw it.


End file.
